Reflections on Ordinary Time

There is a sacred rhythm to human life: lengthy stretches of ordinary, run-of-the-mill living are occasionally interrupted by extraordinary events that define us as individuals.  The liturgical calendar, set up to follow the flow of kairos (God’s time) as opposed to chronos (clock time), reflects this same ebb and flow in the life of Jesus.  His pattern is our pattern for living—and vice versa. 

Epiphany Sunday (which happened to fall on January 6, the day of Epiphany this year) marks the end of the Christmas season for the church.  We’ve now entered a liturgical season referred to as Ordinary Time,[1]which encompasses the majority of the weeks of the year (33 or 34, depending on when Easter falls in a given year). And Ordinary Time has a characteristic that, well, isn’t ordinary.  Unlike other liturgical seasons such as Advent or Lent, Ordinary Time covers two different blocks of time on the calendar.   We are in Ordinary Time now, and will be until Ash Wednesday (March 6).  Then, we will have an approximately 14-week "interruption to the ordinary" for the seasons of Lent and Easter.  These are seasons when we prepare for and experience a series of extraordinary events from the life of Jesus.  We focus on the events leading to his crucifixion, resurrection, and ascension, followed by the coming of the Holy Spirit on Pentecost—50 days after the resurrection. Then, after Pentecost, Ordinary Time resumes, starting on Trinity Sunday and carrying us through the summer and fall, and ending on Christ the King Sunday, the week before the first Sunday of Advent, which again is another season to prepare for the extraordinary happenings surrounding the birth of Jesus.  

Can you see the pattern?  Ordinary days are occasionally interrupted by extraordinary events.  

It could even be argued that even special days like Easter and Pentecost are themselves ordinary days that were interrupted by extraordinary events—e.g., a time when God acts in a way heretofore unprecedented.  Consider, for example, the disciples waking up on the first Easter morning. Clearly none of them expecting a miracle that Sunday morning.  (This despite the fact that Jesus had told them what was going to happen before he died.) The fact is, Jesus had been crucified two days earlier, and they expected the women to finish burying him that morning, the way they did with every other dead person before him.  After all, no one had ever come back from the dead before—especially not from a crucifixion. Crucifixion was Rome's final word...  It was only when Mary and the others returned breathless from the tomb with news that Jesus’ body was missing that they began to realize something extraordinary had indeed taken place and that God was on the move in a new way. 

Likewise the disciples gathered in Jerusalem on the day of Pentecost didn’t know this would be the day the Holy Spirit came. (Even though, at his ascension, Jesus clearly told them to expect something extraordinary to happen in Jerusalem.)  They were just assembling for the annual Firstfruits Festival in Jerusalem on Pentecost as they did every year.  The arrival of the Spirit caught everyone present that day by surprise.

The point is, any ordinary day can become extraordinary when God is present—provided we’re paying attention. 

Ordinary has a negative connation today’s world.  If something or someone is ordinary, they are viewed as not good enough or not special. I don’t want my children to be just ordinary.  If you aren’t extraordinary, you run the risk of being passed over for the scholarship, promotion, etc.  Clearly the church fathers didn’t intend Ordinary Time to be interpreted that way. The word actually comes from the Latin words, tempus ordinarium, or “measured time.” These are, simply, the numbered weeks of the year, ordered from 1 to 33 or 34—e.g., the 4^thSunday in Ordinary Time. (We could also call it Ordinal Time.)

The liturgical color for Ordinary Time is green, a color associated with life and growth. Liturgical readings explore the Gospels and Acts; they tend to focus on the teachings of Jesus and the rapid growth of the early church.  Just as we cannot pinpoint when the physical growth of our children happens, so we can't predict the movement of the Holy Spirit.   Much of our spiritual growth happens on ordinary days as we wake up and do “the same thing we do every day”—but always within the matrix of God with us.  We often can’t see the fruit of our efforts day-by-bay, but nevertheless we persist in doing our best to live as Jesus would live if he were us—which is how author and philosopher Dallas Willard defined discipleship.  

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Sometimes, in the days following Christmas I feel a bit sad.  As friends and family disperse, and I put decorations back into storage for another 12 months, I experience a letdown as life goes back to ordinary.  But the Church calendar reminds me how important ordinary days are.  Ordinary Time is a built-in opportunity for us to apply what we’ve just learned, to catch our breath before the next special thing.  

Maybe our growth is a bit like that of the dormant trees outside my window today.  We grow in those moments when it seems nothing special is happening on the outside—and when no one seems to be paying attention to us. We may not notice the incremental change, but it’s happening.  Someone who hasn’t seen my son for a while will inevitably comment on “how much he has grown since the last time I saw him.”  But I see Brady every day, so I don’t tend to notice the growth as readily—until someone else points it out to me.

During Ordinary Time we are expected to put forth the effort to grow, and to put into practice was the previous liturgical season has taught us/reminded us.  As author and theologian Howard Thurman said it:

When the song of the angels is stilled,
When the star in the sky is gone,
When the kings and princes are home,
When the shepherds are back with their flock,
The work of Christmas begins:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the prisoner,
To rebuild the nations,
To bring peace among all,
To make music in the heart.

Some will attend church on Christmas and choose not to return until Easter Sunday.  I believe that doing so deprives us of so much.  Our spiritual growth shouldn’t take a vacation now that Christmas is behind us.  While there’s not an extraordinary event on the church calendar these next weeks, the ordinary day-to-day life of your local church continues.  More importantly for followers of Jesus, the work of Christmas is always ongoing and each one of us is needed to that which God has uniquely called us to do.   

I’ve heard it said that we’re always being shaped by someone or something.  Left to our own devices we’ll tend to drift away from God toward other influences.  Without regular opportunities to return our focus to God we inevitably drift from where we desire to be.  When plotting a course for a trip, only a slight offset continued over a long enough time interval will result in us enduing up far from our intended destination.  A similar analogy can be applied to spiritual growth.  It doesn’t take long to get off course. 

The good news is that every Sunday we can get that needed course-correction for our lives if we are willing to do what it takes to regularly participate in a church community.  In a sense, we celebrate a mini-Easter every time we gather for worship.  We have a chance to meet the Risen Lord on whatever road we are walking and be renewed to continue the journey.  We support and encourage one another as we walk forward together; we remind each other that God is still with us today, laughing when we laugh and crying when we cry, and welcoming prodigals home no matter how far they have wandered. We become Christ to others, and others become Christ to us.  

I think even in Ordinary Time, that’s extraordinarily good news.  

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[1]The term Ordinary Time came about after the Second Vatican Council in 1970.  Prior to that, the Sundays after Epiphany were referred to as the “xx^th Sunday after Epiphany” and likewise the Sundays after Pentecost were referred to as the “xx^th Sunday after Pentecost”.  The older terminology is still used in some places.

Three Paradoxes of Christmas

I had a Christmas-related piece of writing published on the Sick Pilgrim blog through patheos.com.  It's called Three Paradoxes of Christmas.

I hope all of you have had a festive Holiday season, and that 2019 is a good year for you!

For All the Saints

The invitation to holiness is a lifelong call to draw closer to God who wants nothing more than to encounter us as the people we are and the saints we are meant to be

—James Martin, SJ, My Life With the Saints.

This Sunday is All Saints Sunday on the Church's liturgical calendar.  On the first Sunday in November, it is customary to take time in worship to lift up those saints who have passed on to eternity in the last 12 months.  We typically read a litany of names and give thanks for their presence in our lives.  (Liturgically, November 1 is All Saints Day, with comes after All Hallows Eve, or “Halloween” on October 31.  November 2 is called All Souls Day.)   

When I think of a saint, my mind goes to “official” Saints like St. Paul, or St. Francis of Assisi, or St. John of the Cross, or one of the St. Theresa’s—take your pick:  of Avila, of Lisieux, or of Calcutta (a.k.a., Mother Teresa).  These are people the Roman Catholic church officially recognize as Saints.[1] But it’s interesting to note that, in his letters, Paul doesn’t seem to reserve the word saint for the super-devout. No, he seems to use the term to refer to your garden-variety believer in Jesus.  For Paul, all believers are saints.

One of the foundational creeds of the Christian faith—called the Apostle’s Creed—refers to something called the communion of saints.  Its precise nature is a mystery that has been the subject of theological debate for centuries.  In essence, it’s the notion that we are surrounded always by the ones that have gone on before us (and maybe even, in some mystical way, by the ones not born yet)—what the writer of Hebrews calls “the great cloud of witnesses”—Hebrews: 12:1.

A typical Eastern Orthodox church really reinforces this notion—see images below for examples. When you walk into worship, you are literally surrounded by icons of saints, starting with Jesus in the center, working outward through the Apostles, and then other saints from history revered by that particular congregation.

Icons of the Saints hover around the worshippers at
Antiochian Church of the Redeemer

Surrounded by the saints at another Orthodox church.

As Westerners—and particularly as Protestants—we’ve been taught to be suspicious of prayers to Saints and we typically don’t use icons in worship, but a study of this practice of our Eastern brothers and sisters shows that it has its place.[2] While ultimately our prayers are directed to Jesus, having someone intercede on our behalf is a tried and true practice.  We United Methodists call upon it every time we take time to share Joys and Concerns during worship. From what I have learned, Catholics and Orthodox view these practices as a form of intercession, similar to what we do whenever we ask someone else to pray on our behalf.

If the communion of saints is a reality, then it stands to reason that we can ask prayer from not only those currently alive but all the saints that have ever lived. 

Grand theological ideas are typically lived out in a local context.  And I can speak best of the congregation of which I am part.   At Good Shepherd United Methodist Church in Waldorf, MD, we can point to people who might represent our own communion of saints. Having just celebrated our 50^thanniversary a few months ago, many of those names are fresh in our thoughts. While I lack the institutional memory of some long-time members to name all the names that should be included on our “rollcall of saints”, there were three that came to mind as I was writing this article.  You likely won't know these people personally, but I suspect you can think of Rita's, Luther's, and Bob's in your own context, either in your faith community or maybe among your family and friends.  Each saint bears the image of God in a unique way, but there are common qualities they all share, holiness balanced by humility being chief among them. 

Rita Porter was a longtime member of Good Shepherd. From my experience with her, Rita’s was never a loud voice, but she was a faithful one—and her quiet persistence made an impact on the congregation.  Even as she battled cancer in her final years, Rita continued to sing in the chancel choir and Stain Glassed Bluegrass group, and participate in other activities. When she passed, our congregation was inspired to literally “raise a roof” for our sanctuary in her honor. (We raised funds to enable restoration of the roof over our sanctuary.)

Another example of a pervasive presence was Luther Atkins.  Luther wasn’t a member for all that long before he passed, nevertheless he left an indelible impact on all that knew him.  I still miss his baritone voice singing next to me in the Praise Band, and his participation in Bible studies.  He combined two qualities that aren’t always found together: sage-like wisdom and discernment about when was the right time to share it.  But when the time was right, oh, how Luther loved to tell us his stories! And now I'm quite sure he's telling them in heaven.

To run with the angels
On streets made of gold
To listen to stories of saints new and old
To worship our Maker
That's where I'll be
When you finally find me...

—Mark Harris, “I Wish You Were Here”

More recently it was longtime member, Bob Kendrick, who even as Sister Death finally drew near after over a century of life well lived, extolled the virtue of the place he worshipped for so many years, serving in many different capacities.  We were blessed to hear him sing “In the Garden” from his nursing home bed on the video that was shown at our 50^thanniversary celebration.  If that wasn’t a true communion of saints’ moment, I’m not sure what is?!

In his holy flirtation with the world, God occasionally drops a handkerchief.  These handkerchiefs are called saints—Frederick Buechner.

I think all three of these individuals I've listed would blush at being referred to as saints—maybe they would reluctantly accept being a handkerchief of the Divine.  Of course, none of them were perfect, but they all allowed God to use them for the greater good of their church—and their world.  The same can be said of every saint that has ever lived, whether it be the few that are officially recognized by the Catholic church or the many ordinary saints that we encounter each and every day—if we have eyes that see. 

It was said of St. Francis of Assisi that, “he wore the world like a loose-fitting garment.”  What I assume this means was that while Francis lived in the world, he didn’t get so bogged down in its affairs, that he lost sight of God—and thus others could always see God through him.  Saints tend to be like that.  They show us the fruit of what Eugene Petersen (another saint who recently crossed over to eternity) referred to as, “a long obedience in the same direction”. I’ve heard a disciplined person described as one that is able to do what needs doing when it needs to be done. We might say they are able to do the right thing, at just the right time, for the right reason—for the common good of all.  I’m pretty sure being disciplined is a prerequisite for sainthood.  

In my experience, there’s only one way to be able to do anything in life reliably:  you have to be willing to “put in the time” practicing it day in and day out.  

Think about it: from math to music to meditation—for most, the ability to do these things doesn’t just “come naturally”.  Growth doesn’t just happen.  If you want to progress, you must practice—and you need a well-defined plan to get to where you want to go. 

In The Ignatian Workout, author Tim Muldoon explain it this way: “Novice athletes trust their coaches and their peers who have been in training for some time, using them as models for where they eventually want to be.  Christians trust Jesus and the saints, who are similarly models to follow in their single-minded pursuit of holiness.  We need saints—not just those historical figures revered by the church but also those ordinary people in our lives who quietly testify to the work of God in their midst."

We could say that saints provide us blueprints for holy living. They outline a path that another human being followed to make significant progress in living their life with God, which we can then adapt to our own unique place, time, personality, and circumstances. 

Studies show that it takes about 10,000 hours of practice to gain mastery of a topic.  For example, the basketball player who calmly sinks a game-winning free-throw with thousands watching did so because he or she had taken tens of thousands of similar shots in an empty gym.   

As with basketball, so with spiritual life. If we want to perform well in life’s pivotal moments, then we need to make sure we’ve “put in the hours” of practice being who we desire to be in those moments—long before “the moment” ever comes. 

Saints throughout the ages were (and are) flawed human beings just like you and me; but they have “put in the time” in pursuit of God day after day, so they tend to perform well in life’s pivotal moments. Their witness shows us what we all have the potential of becoming if we open ourselves to God and commit to making the pursuit of God’s Presence a priority in our lives.  We follow the examples of saints—not because they are God themselves, but because they are God-windows.  As we look through the lives of the saints, whether those physically present in our lives or those present via the communion of saints, we get a glimpse of how God is at work in their lives, and we’re inspired to let God work through us.  And hopefully, somewhere along the way it occurs to us that we’re all saints-in-the-making.  Our witness can indeed be a blueprint that others can follow toward Christ, and a window through which they can see God at work. 

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[1]I learned a great deal about the stories of some famous Saints when I read My Life with the Saints, by James Martin, S.J.  This book was the genesis of the term ordinary saints used in this article. 

[2]For an introduction to the practices of the Eastern Orthodox church, I recommend Light from the Christian East: An Introduction to the Orthodox Traditionby James R. Payton, Jr.  Chapter 11 discusses Icons.

From Acorns to Oaks: Nurturing Spiritual Hardwood

I remember on the farm where I grew up, my dad would sometimes spot a young oak sapling that had started growing, that he wanted to preserve.  He would trim away all the other small trees and weeds surrounding it to create space around it.  After that, he would carefully mow around it to maintain the clear space to allow the young tree to grow.  In other words, my father made an intentional effort to promote the oak tree’s growth, and he remained committed to maintaining the sanctity of that space over time.  There are a couple trees on my parent’s farm that started life that way that are now good-sized trees.  

Remarkably, even the most massive oak begin life as a tiny acorn.  It is autumn in Maryland and the acorns are ubiquitous.  They crunch under my feet as I walk around my backyard.   The broken pieces of acorn on my deck are like caltrops, presenting a frightful menace to anyone brave enough to venture out onto our deck barefoot.  I mowed the yard last week and I think there was more acorn than grass!   If one is on the deck in the backyard for any length of time, one stands a good chance of getting pelted by falling acorns.  High above me, squirrels scurry through the canopy and acorns fall in their wake.  Even at night I hear acorns pelting my roof, followed by footsteps of unknown origin scampering after them.

The acorns that fall in my yard will never grow to maturity.  Even if they do manage to get buried, they are not likely to prosper in the shabby and shady soil surrounding my suburban home.  Even in the wild, oaks (and other slower growing trees like locust, birch, or maple) have a hard time prospering.  While a mature oak towers above other trees and has deep roots, since they grow much slower than softwoods like poplars and pine, they can be shaded out by faster growing plants and never reach maturity.  

But it’s not for lack of seeds!  There’s almost a wastefulness to God’s abundance at times.  So many acorns fall from even a single oak tree, but so few will ever take root, and even fewer will grow to maturity.  Most are crushed to dust beneath our feet and quickly forgotten. 

While some acorns just happen to fall in the right place at the right time, take root, and grow into a huge tree, that’s the exception and not the rule.  Oak trees typically don’t just happen at random.  Most of the time when there is a big oak tree thriving in some location [like the one in the picture at the top of this article], it’s because someone a long time ago intentionally created space for them to grow—like my dad did when I was growing up.   

This brings to mind the parable Jesus tells about a farmer going out to scatter seed that appears in the Synoptic Gospels—Mark 4:1-20; Matthew 13:1-23; Luke 8:4-15.  To me, there’s definitely a random element to this story.   Just like with the acorns in my yard, a lot of the seed seems to go to waste: some the birds eat immediately, some falls on bad soil, some is trampled into dust on the path, some springs up (like a poplar tree) but lacks roots, so it withers in the heat.  But then some of the seed finds the good soil and grows, producing an abundant harvest.   

As a gardener, I feel compelled to add a caveat to this parable. My experience tells me that while good soil is an essential starting point for growth, that alone doesn’t guarantee a flourishing garden.   The gardener (or farmer) has an ongoing role to play in maintaining the space over time so the plants can continue to grow and prosper. Otherwise weeds quickly take over and choke out what you planted, or kids trample over your perennials just as they are breaking dormancy, or groundhogs eat your almost ripe melon when you turn your back.  

Quick-growing softwood trees like poplars and pines are in abundance in the woods.  They spring up fast and grow tall for a time, but they lack substance.  When the inevitable seasons of dryness come, they are more vulnerable to disease and death. When forest fires rage, it is often tinder-dry softwoods (and other underbrush) that provide the fuel.  

A hardwood may burn too, but it’s more likely to put up a fight.

  What about us: 

Are we a spiritual hardwood or softwood?

The way of the softwood is surely easier; the skinny poplar springs up quickly and leaps skyward. This is the well-worn path many of us follow.  It requires little long-term commitment on our part.  We never have to do the work required to put down deep roots.   Spiritual softwoods are most concerned with “going to heaven when we die.”  But where does this leave us now—in this life?   When trials come, will the softwood endure?

The way of the hardwood, by contrast, requires more of us, especially at the onset. Nurturing the “acorn” God has planted into a tender “sapling” requires we intentional focus on its growth.  Consistent participation in the life of the community is the only way to clear enough space in the canopy of our lives to allow our roots to sink deeply into the rich humus God has cultivated in our church throughout its history. (For example, my own community just celebrated 50 years of ministry.)  Just like in the forest, hardwoods grow slower at first, but what does grow is more likely to endure.  Over the long-haul, it is the hardwoods that last, growing into towering trees that provide shade for others in the forest.  

The Church that has endured for two millennia is built upon mature spiritual hardwoods. And oh, how we need them now—perhaps more than ever.  Just as our Earth’s climate is shifting with uncertain consequences for the trees of the forest, so my particular tribe of Christianity is contemplating changes, with uncertain consequences for those of us who identify as United Methodist. We stand on the cusp of a General Conference meeting in February 2019 that, to say the least, could significantly impact our future.  In times of upheaval and uncertainty, we especially need trees planted by the water (Psalm 1:3), rooted deeply in Christ (Colossians 2:6-7), and planted in the good soil that God has provided (Mark 4:8,20), that are not easily moved (Jeremiah 17:8).  

This is a fitting image for what church community ought to be.  We should see ourselves as a nursery for nurturing spiritual hardwoods: from acorns, to saplings, to full maturity.  Church is sacred space where we are set apart for certain periods of time to focus on our growth, so we are better equipped and empowered to stand firm (Ephesians 6:10) amidst the many quick-growing, shallow-rooted softwoods of the world around us that seek to shade us at every turn. 

Kingdom-Wisdom from Master Yoda, Part III

The Kingdom of God is Found Through Success—but Especially Through Failure

Yes, failure most of all. The greatest teacher, failure is. 
Luke, we are what they grow beyond. 

That is the true burden of all masters.

We’ve been considering the wisdom about the Kingdom of God found in a dialogue between Luke Skywalker and Yoda from Star Wars: The Last Jedi.  In the last post we considered how the Kingdom was both "here, now" and "over the horizon".  Let’s return to the dialogue, which I printed in its entirety just to refresh our memory.

Luke Skywalker: [Yoda appears as a ghost] Master Yoda. 

Yoda: Young Skywalker. 

Luke Skywalker: I'm ending all of this. The tree, the texts, the Jedi. I'm going to burn it all down. 

Yoda: [Yoda summons lightning to burn down the tree and the Jedi texts. He laughs] Ah, Skywalker. Missed you, have I. 

Luke Skywalker: So, it is time for the Jedi Order to end. 

Yoda: Time it is for you to look past a pile of old books, hmm? 

Luke Skywalker: The sacred Jedi texts? 

Yoda: Oh, read them, have you? Page-turners they were not. Yes, yes, yes. Wisdom they held, but that library contained nothing that the girl Rey does not already possess. Skywalker, still looking to the horizon. Never here, now, hmm? The need in front of your nose. 

Luke Skywalker: I was weak. Unwise. 

Yoda: Lost Ben Solo you did. Lose Rey we must not. 

Luke Skywalker: I can't be what she needs me to be. 

Yoda: Heeded my words not, did you? Pass on what you have learned. Strength. Mastery. But weakness, folly, failure also. Yes, failure most of all. The greatest teacher, failure is. Luke, we are what they grow beyond. That is the true burden of all masters.

My last nugget of wisdom comes from Yoda’s parting words to Luke. Yoda realizes that while Kylo Ren is lost to the Dark Side, there is still hope for Rey—but she can’t do it on her own.  She needs Luke’s help, just as Luke needed Yoda years earlier—and apparently needs him now. Look at how Yoda says it: “Lost Ben Solo you did.  Lose Rey we must not.”  Yoda uses odd speech constructions, but I’m guessing he probably didn’t mix those pronouns accidentally.

Whatever the hidden meaning might be, in frustration, Luke replies, “I can’t be what she needs me to be.” 

As I hinted at before, Luke has convinced himself that because he failed once, he is disqualified from ever teaching again.  He doesn’t want to cause further pain and hurt by his actions.  On the surface, it seems noble enough.  But does this really make sense?  The Galaxy’s only known Jedi Master has sat out the past decade or so as the New Republic/Resistance has struggled to survive against the First Order. So, who is Luke really protecting? Rey or himself?  Losing his nephew to the Dark Side has obviously caused him immense personal pain, as well as grief for his sister, and he would rather avoid feeling all that. It’s an understandable and very human instinct. We all do it. 

Probably my favorite line in the whole exchange is what Yoda says in response: “Heeded my words not, did you? Pass on what you have learned. Strength. Mastery. But weakness, folly, failure also. Yes, failure most of all. The greatest teacher, failure is. Luke, we are what they grow beyond. That is the true burden of all masters.”

What sage wisdom from a Force Ghost!  Personally, I don’t like to admit my failures. I usually try my best to hide my flaws and cover up scars.  I want to pretend to be better than I am.   If I’m teaching, I want to focus on those areas where I am competent and strong, where I am on top of the material we are learning.  I don’t want to lead in an area where I am not in control.  I don’t want my student to see me as vulnerable, scared—human.  I’m a bit embarrassed if I’m the “teacher” and I don’t know an answer.

Of course, there’s nothing wrong with being competent when we teach.  We should have a certain level of mastery of the subject before we presume to teach others.  But what Yoda says in essence is:  Yes, Luke, show Rey all your strength and mastery—but also be vulnerable with her when necessary.  Let her see you as a real person with flaws and fears [see Jesus: A God Who Was Human]. If she surpHeasses you, if she transcends some flaw that you couldn’t, that’s kind of the point.  True mastery comes as we let go of the need to be seen as perfect. The burden of mastery is letting her increase as you decrease.  

He must increase, but I must decrease—John the Baptist

In the story of Jesus, it seems John the Baptist may have embraced this burden of mastery that Yoda speaks about. According to Scripture, John himself was something of a miracle baby, being born to Elizabeth and Zechariah late in life.  John was six months older than his cousin Jesus, but seems to have become convinced that Jesus was the Messiah.  It's possible that the elder John could have been something of spiritual mentor for Jesus?  If that were true, then it would have been easy for John to be jealous of the younger Jesus getting all the attention.  But that does not appear to be what happened.  What we know of him is that his ministry "prepared the way" for what Jesus would accomplish, and then he seems to step aside and let Jesus take center-stage.  In Mark's Gospel, we find that he was executed by King Herod—Mark 6:17-29.

John seems to know he's "not the one", but apparently his followers aren't convinced.  The Jewish people have been waiting for a Messiah for centuries, so it's not surprising that when this powerful preacher appears seemingly out of nowhere preaching a message of repentance and preparation for "coming of the kingdom of God" out on the outskirts of civilization, they start to wonder: Is he the one we've been waiting for?  Is John really the Messiah?  Is he the next coming of the prophet Elijah that has been predicted?  

But—not for the first time [e.g., see John 1:6-8; John 1:19-28]—John makes it clear that he isn't the one, but is merely "sent ahead" of the Messiah to get things ready for his arrival.  He realizes that his work is nearing its end, but that Jesus's work is just beginning.  He likens himself to the best at a wedding, who is ready to stand next to his cousin—the bridegroom.  John makes it clear that Jesus is the one who who "has the bride".  So, like on any wedding day, the best man is justifiably excited, but he knows this is the groom's day; the focus is on him—and on the bride that is about to walk down the aisle to join her groom.  And as best man, John couldn't be happier!  This gives context to understand what John means when he says: "He must increase, but I must decrease"—John 3:29-30.  

Much like Yoda was Luke’s teacher in the ways of the Force, and John the Baptist may have been a mentor for Jesus, we learn from the Gospel stories that Kingdom-living is about becoming disciples, or students, who, in the words of Dallas Willard, “learn from Jesus how he would live our life if he were us,” and then are sent forth to invite others to become fellow learners.  Kingdom-living is about learning to become the truest version of you—including developing the grace and humility of which Yoda speaks, that allows us to have both our successes and failures on display as needed for our those who follow us.  Kingdom–living is something we begin “here, now,” meeting the human “needs in front of our nose”, but it also prepares us for what lies “over the horizon.” Kingdom-living is, as Willard put it, “training for reigning.”

I always felt like Luke Skywalker was something of a slow learner.  One can argue he could’ve learned this lesson Yoda was teaching him years earlier and saved everyone involved a lot of grief.  But in the end, he does get it.  Luke reconnects with the Force and summons all his remaining energy for a confrontation with Kylo Ren on Crait, where the Resistance is hiding.  His final act not only brings personal peace regarding his failure with his nephew, but it also transcends his own concerns for the greater good (peace) of the Galaxy.  His sacrifice “buys time” for the Resistance to escape the First Order—and allows Rey to survive that the Jedi might live on.  Indeed, Luke will not be the last Jedi—nor, it seems, will Rey. The spark of hope is reignited, just as it was over 30 years ago when a farm-boy from Tatooine picked up the torch, that had been sputtering for several decades, and answered Obi Wan Kenobi’s summons to become the Galaxy’s “New Hope” against the Dark Side.  The last scenes of The Last Jedi show a young slave boy playing with his friends as they reenact the Battle of Crait, then later that same boy is alone gazing at the stars above him, with hints that he is “Force-sensitive”, and just might be destined to become part of the Galaxy’s “Next Hope”.  We will have to wait for Star Wars Episode IX to see how the story concludes.

We are the spark that can ignite the flame of God’s love in our world in our generation.  

Over this series of posts, we’ve considered how the kingdom of God is not found in a sacred text with many words as much as it’s experienced through a relationship with the living Word of God, how it’s both “in front of our nose” and “over the horizon” at the same time, and how it’s found through sharing our success with others—but especially through sharing our failures.  

Passing the spark is a good metaphor to summarize the kind Kingdom-living we've discussed.  The classic hymn Pass it On reminds us that: "it only takes a spark to get a fire going."  For centuries, followers of Christ have passed the spark of hope within us, which we believe is found through knowing Jesus as Lord and Savior, from one person to another, from one generation to the next—1 Peter 3:15-16.  

In a way, we are like the Resistance in our world.  We stand against the “Dark Side” if you will—i.e., we resist evil, injustice, and oppression in whatever forms they take. We are the spark that can ignite the flame of God’s love in our world in our generation.  Much like the Star Wars space opera, if the flame is to continue to burn after we are gone, it will be because we passed it on to the “Next Hope”—God has no Plan B.  If we truly believe this message we share is our world’s best hope—maybe it’s only hope—then we better get busy passing it on. 

Kingdom-Wisdom from Master Yoda, Part II

The Kingdom of God is “In Front of Our Nose”

Jesus’s favorite topic of conversation was this mysterious entity he called the kingdom of God, and how he usually did so by telling stories that contained metaphors to describe it.  We began to plumb the depths of a modern story to see if it might also contain Kingdom-wisdom.  We were looking at conversation between Luke Skywalker and Yoda from Star Wars: The Last Jedi and pondering how, as much as we value the Bible to help us learn about God, the most important Kingdom-wisdom isn't found in a book. This week I want to focus one short line of dialogue from their exchange.  After Yoda explains that there is nothing in the sacred texts that Rey doesn’t know already, he ends by saying:

Skywalker, still looking to the horizon. 
Never here, now, hmm? The need in front of your nose.

In John 14:6 Jesus says: I am the way and the truth and the life.  No one comes to the father except through me. We often interpret this verse to mean: I am the way to follow if you want to go to heaven when you die.  But what if that’s not all Jesus had in mind here? I think that when you delve into the broader first-century-Roman-Empire-context of this passage, there’s a strong argument to be made that Jesus was less concerned with his follower’s eternal destinythan he was with their current reality.  At the very least, I think Jesus had both now and not yetin mind.  And for these early followers of Jesus, who were an oppressed minority living under the heel of Roman occupation, getting through today was the most important question in their minds.  Concerns about the afterlife probably were secondary.  To paraphrase Yoda’s words to Luke, they were more focused on “the need in front of their nose.”

What if Jesus was saying to his followers: I am the way to follow if you want to enter the kingdom of God—today.  Note that the very next verse goes on to say, “If you know me, you will know my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.”  That seems to be saying: from this moment on, if you follow me, you will get to know God. Always the questioner, Thomas presses the issue and seeks to clarify.  “Show us the Father and then we will be satisfied.”  We might sense Jesus getting a bit frustrated as his reply in John 14:9, which in essence says: Thomas, you’ve been with me this long and you still don’t get it do you?!  If you’ve seen me, you’ve seen Him! 

I’ve heard it said that we Christians can be so heavenly-minded that we’re no earthly good.  I think maybe Luke fell into the Jedi-equivalent of that.  He thought his work “here, now” was done.  He also thought he had screwed up royally and didn’t want to cause anyone—including himself—additional pain. He was living out his days on a remote island cut off from the Force, disconnected from engaging all the galaxy’s problems, waiting for the day when he could quietly slip “over the horizon” and merge with the Force 

Maybe some of us can relate to how Luke feels?  Participating in the life of a community of faith week after week can be physically, emotionally, and spiritually draining.  That’s especially true for those of us who take on the mantle of leading others, both laity and especially clergy.  There are certainly moments, when life in community is challenging,  where we might get wounded by the actions of others (even if it wasn’t intentional), and where we might be tempted to quit—to withdraw from the world,  to escape to wherever or whatever Ahch-To is for us and never come back.  But somehow we persevere and endure Sunday after Sunday because we know God has called us to this role.   Our contribution is still needed “here, now” meeting the “need in front of our nose.”

Now, having been a Jedi Master for nearly 1000 years, Yoda surely knows about the challenges of life “here, now”.  He isn’t unsympathetic that his former student is tired and wounded from all that has taken place.  Yoda also presumably already knows a thing or two about the nature of life “over the horizon” at this point, and he knows that Luke will enter that life when the time is right.   But he also knows that it is not Luke’s time yet.  No, he still has work to do “here, now” in his physical body.  Rey and the Resistance need the help of a Jedi Master—and Luke happens to be the only one available.  He does no one—including himself—much good remaining hidden away on Ahch–To brooding over his failure with his nephew.  Yoda’s visit seems to be a “kick in the butt” to remind the aging Jedi that, to use an earlier Yoda quote, there is still “much to learn he still has”.  Of course, as the plot unfolds, Luke learns the lesson.  He reconnects and offers everything he has left “here, now” to save Rey and the Resistance. 

The kingdom of God is both “here, now” and “over the horizon”. Theologians have speculated a great deal about what life is like “over the horizon” and there are lively debates to be had over the details.  However, at the end of the day none of us can make more than make educated guesses about what awaits us “over the horizon” in eternity.  As Paul says in his letter to the church in Corinth: For now we see in part, as if we were looking through a mirror, but one day we will see in full, and know fully, and be fully known—1 Corinthians 13:12.  

Scripture indeed promises us that one day we will see what is "over the horizon"—but it is not this day...  

Today, we have only the world that  is "here, now", with many pressing “needs in front of our nose”.  There is much work to do on Earth, where our actions allow the Kingdom to come on Earth as it is in heaven.  Our actions can make a positive impact for the common good of the world; conversely, our inaction could add to the pain and suffering of humanity.  What we do "here, now" really does matter!  

In the Gospels (e.g., see John 6) we see Jesus responding to the “needs in front of his nose” with compassion, mercy, and grace.  He met the physical needs of the people he encountered every bit as much as their spiritual needs.  For Jesus the two are of a piece.  Notice for example in the story of feeding the 5000 (which is one of the few stories about Jesus that appears in all four Gospels), that the physical feeding comes before the spiritual needs of are even addressed. Jesus sees hungry people and he simply cannot not feed them. 

If we want to discover the Kingdom of God and walk in the way of Jesus, we will need to do the things that Jesus did on a regular basis. 

If we want to discover the Kingdom of God and walk in the way of Jesus, it stands to reason that we will need to do the things that Jesus did on a regular basis.  We too have an obligation to tend to the needs of the least, the last, and the lost in our world, responding to the “needs in front of our nose” just as Jesus did. In some mysterious way the work we do “here, now” prepares us for the work we will continue to do “over the horizon” in eternity.  If we’ve been doing the work of God “here, now” we can expect a smooth and peaceful transition to life “over the horizon”—just as Luke experienced such a transition at the end of The Last Jedi. We can trust God to work out the details of the transaction when the time is right.  

Next: Kingdom-Wisdom is Found Through Success—but Especially Through Failure.

Jesus: A God Who Was Human

Theologically we speak of Jesus as fully human and fully divine.  That means he must have been something of a living paradox—an enigma. He obviously possessed qualities that were divine, such as the ability to heal others and perform miracles, including rising from the dead, which no human has ever done before or since.  But at the same time, other scenes show him to be quite human, with a range of emotions, which would suggest he had weakness, folly—and maybe even failure—just like any other human that has ever lived on this third rock from the Sun. 

I think the people that followed Jesus got to know a real person.  Especially in Mark’s telling of the story, I think we see a fully human Jesus on display, one who wrestles with what it will take to live out his call to sacrifice his life.  Most scholars think Mark’s account is the oldest Gospel.  It almost seems like later writers decided we needed a more Divine Jesus to worship (more of a Super Hero if you will), so they increasingly downplayed his human side.^* But what if it was precisely the fact this God was so human that made him so believable and accessible?  What if his being real and vulnerable was what made others willing to follow him?  I think that might be the whole point of the incarnation in the first place. 

^*For example, the Gospel of John, which may be the most “recent” of the four narratives written about the life of Jesus, seems to take things to the opposite extreme, emphasizing a fully divine Jesus. The author frequently interrupts the narrative to remind us that Jesus knew exactly what he was doing and why, but did a particular act for the benefit of others.

Back to Part I.